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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23531380">an itch that can't be scratched</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay'>princesskay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fragile (handle with force) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mindhunter (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, First Time Bottoming, Infidelity, M/M, Rough Sex, Season/Series 01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:35:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23531380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Like many things, it begins with California and Kemper, Holden's morbid curiosity and Bill's inability to deny them what they both want.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Holden Ford/Bill Tench</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fragile (handle with force) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>an itch that can't be scratched</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This series holds a special place in my heart, so I'm so glad I've found a way to go back to the beginning and show how it all started. I'm planning on writing a follow-up to this fic as well to bridge this work with the rest. Hope everyone enjoys! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>An asshole will suck your cock right in. It’s like a hole that sucks. It’s easy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything that Ed says emblemizes itself in Holden’s mind, but that illicit suggestion burrows itself in the gray matter deeper than all the rest; it repeats itself like a record skipping in his subconscious. The remark had come right after Ed accused him of being a virgin, an observation that isn’t exactly wrong when it comes to the topic of sodomy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few weeks after the conversation, Holden wrestles with how the idea makes him feel, whether he’s exhilarated or disgusted by the rush of warmth in his belly when his thoughts inadvertently wander away into the fantasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sodomy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It sounds terrible and abusive, the kind of disturbing act that is reserved for the sickest minds, for people like Ed. In his classes at the Academy, the professor had briefly gone over the topic in a revolted tone that assured the students the act was reserved for pedophiles, rapists, murderers, and a handful of other sick individuals who considered it a “lifestyle.” They’d made certain to emphasize the destroying nature of it, how the human body isn’t meant to take penetration in that manner, and how it almost always ends in injury. That’s why killers do it, his professors had reasoned. It’s the worst type of rape someone can think of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ed, who has actually sodomized someone unlike all of his college professors, made it sound easy and maybe even pleasurable. Despite the classes and conditioning, Holden can't get the idea out of his mind; and though Ed had suggested he bring it up with Debbie, Holden keeps the thoughts to himself. His fascination is winding in another direction, one that he can’t admit to his girlfriend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He buys the small jar of Vaseline at the pharmacy along with the innocuous purchases of  Tylenol and bandaids. When he gets home, he sets the items on the kitchen table, and stares at them in disbelief for a few moments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashamed with himself and overwhelmed by the fact that he’d already followed through with the first step, he tucks the Vaseline in his sock drawer where it stays for the next several days. Each morning when he opens the drawer to retrieve a clean pair of socks, he sees it sitting there in the corner, tempting him to set aside his anxiety and try it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If he hates it, he can throw the jar away and never think about it again. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The reasoning gives him a boost of confidence that’s quickly undercut by the realization that just the opposite could happen. He shuts the drawer on the Vaseline, and leaves it for another three days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few days later, Debbie is busy with school work, and he stays at his own apartment, aimlessly watching TV while the thought of the Vaseline hiding in his drawer circles the back of his mind. He rolls around on the couch, trying in vain to get comfortable as a needy energy runs through his body, triggering a dull ache between his thighs. He tries not to look down, but his cock is obscenely hard against his pajama pants, begging for relief. He thinks about simply masturbating to momentarily put out the fire, but he can’t escape the exhilarating, sinful idea of penetration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jumping up off the couch, he marches down the hallway to his bedroom, and yanks the drawer open. The Vaseline stares up at him, teasing him into action. He pulls the jar from among his folded socks, and lays a towel over the bedspread. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stripping out of his clothes, he bites his lower lip over the groan that rides the back of his throat when his cock comes free of his underwear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts out lying on his back with his knees raised to his chest, but quickly discovers the best angle is obtained from kneeling with his face down in the sheets and his ass raised in the air. In this position, he can pump his fingers into himself from behind and rock back against the pressure simultaneously while using his other hand to stroke at his throbbing cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He comes so quickly that his mouth stretches open in a breathless cry of shock when the orgasm cripples him. The pleasure is gripping and immense, climax hitting him so hard that he’s paralyzed and seeing stars, moaning helplessly through every powerful spasm. And despite the fact that it was Ed who had started him down this path, he doesn’t think of him or the California State Correctional Facility. Behind the clenched, black sheen of his eyelids, he sees someone else poised behind him, fingers wrapped up in his hair, big, fat cock hammering into him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden’s eyes jar open with a gasp when the orgasm releases him, spitting him out on the damp towel where he marinates limply in the aftermath of his own filthy desires. Maybe subconsciously, the inclination had been there all along, but he’d pushed it as far to the back of his mind as he possibly could. Now, lying in a scattered heap of spent release and shuddering beneath the enormity of his desires, he can’t ignore the realization dropping out of the clear blue sky to land directly in front of him: </span>
  <em>
    <span>He wants Bill to fuck him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Holden had spent the majority of his childhood learning to enjoy observing other people. Since his family moved around quite a bit, he didn’t get a lot of opportunities to settle into knowing people and making friends. He didn’t have the time to go through every classmate until he found the right one that shared his interests or world views; he had to choose quickly and wisely lest he fall in with a crowd of selfish assholes, of which there are many in public high school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the tactic turned into a hobby. He enjoyed observing while waiting in the car while his mother shopped, at sporting events, church services, funerals, family get-togethers, and anywhere that he could find a space away from the fray of the crowd to watch people interact from a distance. He liked picking them apart and putting them back together, noticing all of their little tics and gestures, the way they held themselves in confidence or shied away out of low self-esteem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> In that way, he had been preparing for this new hobby of interviewing serial killers since childhood; and now, as an adult, he can’t turn the thought process off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he met Bill, he began to observe and analyze, intrigued by his new partner who is full of contradictions: the crew cut meets the brightly patterned ties; the gruff exterior chafes the wedding ring; the golf course languishes against the Army background; the fidgety, habitual smoking undercuts the facade of authority and control; and the bright intelligence hides behind layers of macho, g-man pontificating. It all adds up to something extremely interesting - and attractive, if not intimidating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first few weeks, Holden doesn’t know what to make of Bill - his acceptance of Holden as his partner despite his sharp edges, his coarse charm that can turn abrasive in seconds, and the things that the mercurial gray-blue of his eyes do to Holden’s blood pressure. He spends those early days stubbornly ignoring the instantaneous attraction so much so that it almost goes undetected until his fascinated observations gather more empirical evidence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As their time together extends into the first months of road school, Holden’s voracious curiosity is fed daily by their shared hotel rooms and long hours spent alone in a car together. He doesn’t just get to know Bill’s mannerisms and bad habits - he learns his routines too. He knows the voice Bill uses on the phone with Nancy, whether he’s angry or tired or relieved that day. He knows how long it takes Bill to smoke a cigarette, and how many shots of whiskey it takes before he passes out in bed. He knows what it sounds like if Bill is asleep and snoring, or whether he’s awake and breathing gradually into the darkness. He knows how long it takes Bill to shower, and how long it takes when he’s doing something extra with the door shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not quite sure what he’s doing hoarding these deeply personal observations until one early morning in a hotel room somewhere in the Midwest. He wakes with the demanding urge to use the bathroom, and staggers out of bed in the early morning sunlight to get to the toilet. By the time he finishes relieving himself, he’s fully awake, and when he shuffles back into the hotel room, his gaze wanders over towards Bill’s bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill is lying on his back among the disheveled sheets, fully asleep by the sound of his heavy breathing. Vexed by the summer heat, he’d kicked off the sheets in the middle of the night, leaving him sprawled in his undershirt and boxers, the front of which are obviously tented. The image strikes Holden in the middle of his chest, all but taking the breath out of his lungs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He creeps closer, his breath held in the back of his throat as he observes the unintentional erection twitching languidly against Bill’s boxers. For half a moment, he recklessly wonders if Bill would wake up if he pulled the front flap of the underwear back just far enough to get a glimpse of hard cock. The idea paralyzes him while it grows out of control, melding from a single glimpse into full exposure, into touching, into tasting, into Bill’s cock thrusting to the back of his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill stirs, a slight frown knitting his brow as he shifts, engorged discomfort reaching past layers of sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horrified, Holden scampers back to his bed, and leaps under the sheets. He yanks the sheets up around his burning cheeks, barely breathing as his own groin gives a shallow throb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few moments later, Bill climbs out of bed, and walks past Holden’s huddled figure on the way to the bathroom. The doors swings shut behind him, and the shower turns on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden lays rigidly still for the next twenty minutes, listening intently as the water runs over the barely audible sound of Bill grunting quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that day, he puts the thought out of his mind, and silently promises himself not to ever let his vivid imagination get the best of him again. He shoves it down, and keeps shoving it down every day after whenever it arises. He smothers it for weeks until it’s barely a memory and more of a humiliated flinch that’s easy enough to ignore for the sake of his own sanity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t until he’s kneeling face down in his bed sheets with his fingers lodged in his asshole and the towel absorbing his jetting load of cum that the image bursts from the buried confines of his mind into massive, unavoidable desire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All at once, his preconceived notions about himself and his limits come crashing down. He can’t lie to himself anymore with his own needs staring him in the face and the evidence drying into the soiled, white terrycloth.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A week later, Bill and Holden get roped into the Gonzalez investigation in Sacramento, stranding them without a flight until Sunday. Bill is frustrated and angling for escape on the golf course while Holden isn’t thinking about anything but talking to Ed again. Unfortunately, it's already too late in the day for them to do either one of those things, and they’re left to spend the rest of the evening in the hotel barely speaking to one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill calls Nancy, and receives what sounds like a frustrated tongue-lashing that ends in an exasperated apology from behind Bill’s clenched teeth. They hang up after less than ten minutes of terse conversation, and Bill slouches on the bed with his attention focused on the book in his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden lays on his belly on the bed, pretending to watch the television while he discreetly observes Bill from across the room. His reading glasses are low on his nose while his eyes wander back and forth across the page, and his fingers clasp a dwindling cigarette. He has freckles on his bare shoulders from youthful hours in the sun, and solid musculature underneath despite having obviously let himself go a little bit in the last few years. Holden isn’t opposed to the slight swell of his belly; in fact he can imagine burying his face in its warmth and kissing his way lower, lower, lower into coarse hair and pulsing skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shifting his gaze purposefully back to the television, Holden suffocates the thought just like every other one that Bill’s electric presence has been tormenting him with for the past few weeks. It seems that Bill’s mounting frustration with him only encourages the stubborn needs that refuse to wither and die under the scrutiny of shame; and he can’t help but wonder if Bill feels the magnetic current that Holden is feeling, if he’s just as vexed by it considering how strained his relationship with his wife obviously is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden wakes up the next morning to find that Bill is already up and gone from the hotel room. He stumbles into the bathroom to find the Post-It note tacked to the mirror with a brief note scribbled on it: </span>
  <em>
    <span>golfing, back at noon. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden pulls the note off the mirror, and rubs his thumb over the indentations of Bill’s handwriting. He hadn’t planned on going over to interview Ed until later, looking to avoid another round with the commissary egg salad sandwich. He doesn’t mind waiting around for Bill to get back from the golf course, which might also give him the opportunity to attempt to persuade Bill once more into going with him to the correctional facility. Maybe he will be in a better mood once he’s blown off some steam on the green. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he waits for Bill to return, Holden tries to occupy himself with television and reading a book, but his mind keeps slipping away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He packed the Vaseline in his bag, and he isn’t sure why. He’s never attempted something like that while they’re on the road. Even now, despite how needy he’s feeling, the idea of possibly getting caught fingering himself is too humiliating to bear. Still, a sense of urgency - a sordid intuition like some self-fulfilling prophecy - grips him. Part of him knows he’s already made up his mind; part of him is too scared to think how Bill might react to such a proposition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around ten, he gets a shower, and puts on his undershirt and the trousers he’ll wear to the correctional facility today. Sprawling on the bed, he tries again to read his book until the hour creeps toward noon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill returns from the golf course at a quarter after twelve, smelling sweetly of the outdoors and the faint sheen of perspiration on his brow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Holden says, peeking over the top of his book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured you would be over at the correctional facility already.” Bill says, swiping his aviator sunglasses from his nose, and tugging the golfing glove from his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You took the car.” Holden points out. “I didn’t want to rent another.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, you want me to drive you over?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden sits up against the headboard as Bill retrieves a bottle of water from the minifridge, and takes a long drink. A line of sweat travels down the side of his sun-kissed throat as he gulps down the water. He wipes the back of his hand across his gleaming lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holden?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden startles, realizing he’d been caught staring. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he musters a reply, “I, uh … yeah. I’m almost ready to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden climbs to his feet, and crosses the room to pull a clean shirt out of his suitcase. He sees the Vaseline sitting in the corner of the bag, and draws in a trembling breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” He asks, straightening to cast Bill a curious gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill scowls. “Yeah, Holden, I’m sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you would feel differently if you heard it directly from Ed.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t. And stop calling him ‘Ed’ like you two are buddies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s called a rapport, Bill.” Holden says, shaking out the folds in his shirt. “It’s a very simple interview technique that they teach in the Academy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, except he’s already been caught, and doesn’t have to confess anything to you. You’re going there to get extra details that we aren’t required to get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes you have to push a little further to make new discoveries - do things that aren’t considered proper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Bill says, exhaling a sigh, “I am not going to argue with you about this. I’ll drive you over there, and I’ll keep this under wraps. But that doesn’t mean I agree with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden turns to cast him a hard gaze. “Just think about it. You’re golfing while I’m gleaning new, undiscovered insights directly from the mind of Ed Kemper. You’re smarter than this, Bill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s expression twists into a sneer of disbelief. “Don’t talk to me like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? Because you’re my ‘superior’?” Holden asks, waving quotation marks with one hand. “I know an opportunity when I see one, and you’re letting this one sail past you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re right about two things.” Bill says, “I am smart, Holden; I founded the Behavioral Science Unit long before you even dreamed of talking to Ed Kemper, and I am your superior. So let me tell you what I think - I think you were bored being a brick agent, and I think you were bored in hostage negotiation. I think you were bored with teaching, and rightfully so. You were overqualified for that position, and yeah - you’re probably overqualified for teaching road school, too. You’ve got an itch you can’t scratch, and you’re using Kemper to get to it - and whether you want to admit it or not these little conversations are nothing more than a fucking weird, illicit thrillride you’re taking yourself on. And I’m not going to be a part of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden stares at him for a moment, his mouth slipping open. Part of him is too shocked and horrified by Bill’s analysis to offer a retort, while the rest of him is rising with bubbling frustration that’s verging on anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have an itch I can’t scratch?” Holden whispers, his voice shaking slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s brow furrows deeper, his hands bracing against his hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>do?” Holden says, a laugh scoffing from the back of his throat. “That’s really ironic, Bill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? Tell me why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve worked together for how long? A few months? It took me half that time to realize you are so past the seven year itch you don’t even know what real friction feels like anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s eyes flash, and his jaw clenches with a ripple of rage. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your wife.” Holden says, “You barely talk to her, and when you do, it’s for like fifteen minutes in the evening about things you don’t even care about. Half the time she’s pissed off at you about something you have no control over. You’re on the road </span>
  <em>
    <span>all the time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and it doesn’t even seem to bother you that you never see her. You’ve got Playboys in your desk at work. And please, don’t think you’ve been subtle every time you jerk off in the shower. These hotel walls are thin, Bill - very thin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the ensuing silence, Holden hears Bill draw in a hitched breath just above the roar of his racing blood. He swallows hard as Bill’s gaze shimmers with suppressed anger, reaching across the hotel room to grip Holden with paralytic ferocity. He feels the shirt drop from his hands to crumple on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill breaks into a stride, and Holden only manages to stumble a few feet backwards before he reaches him. Bill’s eyes are afire as he crowds into Holden’s personal space, so close that the heat of his breath spills across Holden’s cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How fucking dare you talk about my wife like that.” He says, his voice low and shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden lifts a tremulous gaze to meet Bill’s glare. He wants to crumble beneath its seizing intensity, but he stands still, trying to breathe, trying to imagine what might happen if Bill struck him across the mouth now - or something else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you’re mute?” Bill snaps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden swallows hard, and draws in a deep breath through his nostrils. “No, I’m just waiting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what you’re going to do to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat of silence. Holden sees Bill’s eyes flash like a switch flipping, realization emerging in the hazy blue. He draws in a hitched breath, and takes a slight step backwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden takes back the space with a swift stride forward that brings their chests colliding, his hands clutching at the sturdy, rising expanse of Bill’s chest. Their gazes clash, sharing budding curiosity and need before Holden leans in to press his mouth to Bill’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill goes still against him, barely breathing as Holden’s mouth strokes along the sharp line of his lower lip. The faint taste of smoke and sweet saliva tantalizes Holden’s lips, and he flicks his tongue forward to get a better taste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill seizes Holden’s hips, and forces them apart with a gasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden’s eyes fly open to see Bill glaring down at him, his nostrils flared with racing breaths, his cheeks flushed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you doing?” He demands in a raspy whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does it look like?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s frown deepens, a protest forming on his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me guess.” Holden says, interrupting before Bill can gather his ire. “You haven’t been properly laid in what? Like three to five years?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fresh anger flares in Bill’s eyes, just the predictable reaction Holden had been searching for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what?” Bill bites out. “You’re offering?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden’s breathing quickens. His pulse is pounding so hard he feels light-headed, but the need mounting low in his belly is more viscous than it’s ever been, a knife pressed to his throat until he complies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives a slight nod, and Bill’s eyes squint in disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve thought about it.” Holden whispers, shakily. “Haven’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. No.” Bill says, but his gaze cuts away from Holden just as he says it, his voice recoiling to a whisper as he lies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, you want someone to fuck, don’t you?” Holden murmurs, pressing closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s hands clutch onto his hips so hard that Holden can almost feel bruises forming. He slips his fingers under Bill’s chin, gently turning his face back towards him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who else is going to bend over for you?” Holden asks, softly, “Nance? I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a moment of breathless silence. Holden can hear his heart knocking against his ribs as viscerally as he can see the suppressed anger and need burgeoning in Bill’s eyes. Before he can spare a thought to regret, Bill grabs him by the arm, and bursts into motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden staggers after him, his head spinning with euphoric satisfaction as Bill throws him face down on the bed. He lands with a grunt, and tries to get his hands and knees underneath himself; but Bill shoves his legs apart, and climbs between them. The heel of his hand digs into Holden’s spine, pinning him to the bed sheets while he bends down to press his mouth to Holden’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever done this before?” He asks. His voice is low, like scraped sandpaper that grazes coarsely across Holden’s nerve-endings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden shakes his head as Bill’s hand slips underneath of him to yank the zipper of his trousers open. He lifts his hips obediently, gasping softly as the garment comes free. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill yanks the pants down below his backside, and palms his asscheek through the thin barrier of his underwear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you better tell me to stop right now before you get into something you’re not ready for.” Bill says, “You fucking started this. I don’t want your regrets on my conscience, got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden nods, licking desperately at his anxiously dry lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a weighted pause. Bill’s hand is firmly fondling Holden’s backside even as he gives Holden the opportunity to back out with a gruff, “Well?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden closes his eyes. “Don’t stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill mutters a sound of disbelief, but he doesn’t hesitate to slip his fingers under the waistline of his underwear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden moans as the fabric slides down below his backside. He pulls his arm out from under himself, and waves a finger at his suitcase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s, um … there’s Vaseline in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s frantic motions pause, and Holden hears his breath catch before he scoffs quietly, “You little shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden purses his lips, and peeks over his shoulder at Bill with a sheepish gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill climbs off him, and saunters over to the suitcase. Flipping it open, he digs through Holden’s clothes for only a moment before coming up with the jar. When he turns to walk back towards the bed, Holden can see the obscene outline of his erection pressed to the tight front of his trousers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden shudders as Bill crawls between his legs, and palms his hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get up on your knees.” Bill says, giving Holden’s bare flank a light smack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden pulls his knees under himself, keeping his cheek pressed to the sheets. A wave of heat rolls down his body as he settles into position, his ass completely bare and vulnerable to Bill’s gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill glances down as he unscrews the lid of the Vaseline, and Holden watches his minute affectations, his calm, his determination - as if he’s done this before. Holden blinks at the realization, but quickly decides it’s in his favor since he has no idea what’s coming next, only a self-destructive impulse to find out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s murky gaze shifts up to catch Holden staring. He nods at Holden’s trousers crumpled around his thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pants off.” He says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden bites his lower lip, and reaches down to work the trousers down his thighs and below his knees. He kicks them from his ankles, and Bill discards them hastily over the side of the bed. Holden is left crouching in his t-shirt, his body shivering with anticipation and a muted bit of humiliation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to watch as Bill’s fingers dip into the Vaseline, and come away shining on a quick path towards his body; but his eyes squeeze shut just before they touch him, their caress slick and warm and coarse. A gasp lurches from the back of his throat, and he curls forward, his body revolting against the foreign sensation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill palms one ass cheek, his fingers digging into the ample flesh and forcing Holden’s hips down and back into position. The grip keeps him poised open and exposed as Bill smears his fingers across the opening, lathering Vaseline all down the cleft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, oh.” Holden moans in choked little sounds of shock and pleasure that he can’t swallow down. Every touch races like electricity, setting little fires everywhere - inside him, down his spine, into his belly and chest, all the way to the tips of his toes. His mouth is stretched open, drooling helplessly into the sheets as Bill’s finger presses into him, the violation steady and persistent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax.” Bill says, his tone verging on impatience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden nods wordlessly against the sheets, but the response is worthless as Bill’s finger thrusts into him. He can’t help the tremble and lurch of his hips no matter how many times Bill's grip on his backside pulls him back into position, or how many times he tells himself to relax to the penetration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s touch presses deeper, working down to the knuckle and curling within him. A bolt of white-hot pleasure races through Holden’s body, a harsher, brighter version of the thrill he’d managed to give himself with his own fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God!” Holden cries, tearing at the bed sheets with trembling fists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hips wrench away from Bill’s touch again, and Bill drags him back with a firm hand on his hip. As Holden falls back into position, he withdraws his finger to dole out a hard slap across one ass cheek .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay still.” He orders, plunging his fingers back into Holden’s quaking body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden gasps in shock, his body freezing as the slap radiates across his senses and lingers hotly on his skin with a tingling ache. His cock twitches between his thighs, aroused by the rough handling even before the thought gets to his brain. He’s still processing the realization by the time Bill adds another generous layer of Vaseline and pairs a second finger with the first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden whines, trying to stay in position as the pressure mounts, and the rough breadth of Bill’s fingers split him open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh God.” Holden whimpers, his back arching. “Fuck, Bill ..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill doesn’t respond to Holden’s simpering as he thrusts his fingers into Holden’s gradually gaping hole. When he gets them all the way inside, he hooks his fingers and rubs down in a slow, firm circle that ignites the same shocking bolt of pleasure Holden had enjoyed minutes before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Jesus.” Holden chokes, his whole body seizing against the sensation. Without thinking, he twists away from the sweet agony of Bill’s fingers working deeply into him, touching places no one else has ever touched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes jolt open to the second loud crack of Bill’s palm on his ass, and the resulting scorch of hot pain that sinks through layers of skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did I say?” Bill asks, “Do you want this or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want it, I want it.” Holden gasps, clinging desperately to the sheets. “Please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoots a delirious glance over his shoulder to see Bill’s jaw set and his eyes dark with need and concealed, lingering frustration. He dips his fingers in the Vaseline again, and delves them back into Holden’s shuddering body. Bracing a hand against Holden’s lower back, he fucks his fingers in slow and hard, back and forth, working Holden open at a determined pace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden moans and shudders, but keeps himself still and obedient as Bill’s fingers pump into him. For several long, breathless moments, he’s just being persistently penetrated and forced open, but as his body begins to submit, Bill applies that curled, massaging motion to the swollen, sensitive spot deep within him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden’s mouth slips open in a breathless cry as his senses blanket in humming, blinding pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, oh my god.” He pants, his hips rocking back against the divine pressure. “Jesus, fuck, Bill, there. There.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s touch retreats abruptly, taking the prospect of approaching pleasure right along with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden lapses against the sheets, sweating and panting from his brush with orgasm. His cock swings achingly hard between his thighs, and he can all but feel the pre-cum dribbling from the swollen, straining tip. Stars prickle at the corners of his vision as he shoots an anxious glance over his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill rises to his knees behind Holden, and reaches down to unzip his trousers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden chest squeezes with a clash of anticipation and mild panic. He’s never done this before - never been fucked like this - and the realization that he might be in over his head hits him for a single, paralytic moment; then, Bill slips out of the trousers and his boxers, exposing the thick, hard length of his cock, and Holden feels his insides melt into a mass of intractable arousal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teeth gnashing at his lower lip, Holden tries to pace his breathing as Bill oils his cock with Vaseline. Anticipation coils in his belly, leaving him humming and aching, longing for this moment to speed itself along to the conclusion he’s been imagining for weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill pulls his shirt off over his head, and uses it to wipe the excess Vaseline off his hands before tossing it across the bed. He shifts closer to Holden, grasping the base of his cock to direct it to his slick, open hole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden clenches his jaw against a building whine. He watches over his shoulder as Bill’s hand clasps his bare hip, guiding him backwards into the graze of his cockhead. Hot, hard flesh brushes up against Holden’s opening, teasing him with the idea of impending penetration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clutching at the sheets, Holden presses his eyes shut in an attempt to brace himself. His mind is racing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, it looks so big. How is it going to fit? How is he going to do this? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s hand strokes his flank as he rubs the blunt head up against Holden’s glazed hole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh-” Holden gasps, his back arching instinctively away from the touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here.” Bill mutters, low, dragging Holden forcefully back against him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please…” Holden hears himself whimpering, his body shaking as Bill’s cock thrusts  slowly into him. The pressure mounts, a dull ache, the rush of momentary panic. “Please, don’t hurt me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s palm slides down his spine, retaining the submissive arch in Holden’s back. His other hand grasps Holden’s ass cheek, keeping him open as he thrusts slowly inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, easy.” Bill says, and his voice is softer for the first time, reassuring. “That doesn’t hurt does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden gasps in a stuttered breath, and shakes his head. It doesn’t; it feels like an unbearable ache, like he’s so full he could burst, like Bill is occupying every inch of his insides even though he’s barely just begun; but his cock is throbbing, so hard he can barely take it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it?” Bill presses, his thumb stroking Holden’s ass cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden shakes his head again, unable to muster more than a whimper. The pressure keeps going and going, feeling as if it’s never going to end, and he wonders when his body will break, when he splits in two in Bill’s calloused hands. The disjointed thought of pleasure and pain merges into a haze of arousal that concludes abruptly with the quiet slap of Bill’s hips against his backside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden’s eyes slip open to glimpse their bodies joined at the center over his shoulder and the sweating curve of his spine. His mouth slips open in a stammered gasp, and a bright spark of satisfaction explodes in his chest. The image plasters over the back of his mind like elicit wallpaper, settling in irreversibly, making itself at home in his subconscious where his deepest, darkest desires are burrowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill grunts quietly, his eyes squeezing shut in concentration for a moment. When they crack open again to regard Holden’s crouched position below him, he bites his lower lip against a faint smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden whines softly as Bill rocks against him, a gradual rutting that’s building towards something more harsh. Their gazes hold, and silence takes over except for the squeak of bed springs and the filthy squelch of Holden’s body swallowing Bill’s cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill strokes a hand down his back, nudging the hem of the t-shirt out of the way to trail his fingertips softly along the perspiring curve of Holden’s spine. He hums a sound of satisfaction as Holden’s skin prickles with goosebumps and a shiver runs through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whimpering, Holden arches back against him as the dull ache begins to evolve into a throbbing need. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Bill-” Holden rasps, his eyes rolling back as Bill’s cock thrusts harder into him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like that?” Bill murmurs, his mouth curling against a hiss of pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Fuck, please-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden clutches onto the bed sheets to brace himself as Bill’s pace picks up, fucking into him with steady, practiced ease. His body shakes with every slap of Bill’s hips against him, his cock bottoming out deep inside Holden’s gaping body and causing the bed to shake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want it harder?” Bill growls, dragging his palm up Holden’s spine and letting his nails scratch on their way back to his bare hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden gasps, and nods, lost and beyond control. His whole body feels like it’s floating, gripped by some insatiable pleasure he can’t define, longing for something harsher as if a kind, gradual pace couldn’t possibly reach the itch gnawing away at his insides. He’d begged Bill not to hurt him, but he’d really meant: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Take me apart, and don’t be kind about it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t seem to need to say those words at all as Bill thrusts harder into him, his hips crashing violently into Holden’s soft, trembling body. For several long moments, Holden hangs onto desperately to the sheets, feeling his body crumble to the power of Bill’s cock driving into him, awaiting the moment he simply shatters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s gasping and dizzy when Bill reaches down to grab him by the hair, and pull his face up from the sheets. Holden struggles to get his hands underneath him as Bill’s fingers slide underneath his jaw, forcing his head back and his spine into a pinned, inescapable arch. His other hand grasps Holden’s hip, guiding Holden back and forth against him so that their bodies meet up in rhythm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s breath blasts hot against the shell of Holden’s ear as he presses closer. His voice is a raspy, erotic whisper as he admits, “Fuck, that’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden moans a response, his throat too knotted with shocked pleasure to verbalize. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s mouth slips down against the back of his neck, landing a biting kiss against the tender skin. Holden shudders with a fresh wave of aroused tingles as Bill’s kisses travel lower, planting sucking kisses down his neck. One bite in particular latches itself at the join of his neck and shoulder, applying so much pressure that Holden all but feels the burst of blood vessels, the mark settling black and blue below his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, oh, fuck.” Holden whimpers, arching his neck away from the fierce kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill delves his fingers into the hair at the crown of his head, and yanks his neck back open to the sting of lips and teeth. As he sucks down again, harder at the side of Holden’s lower neck, the rhythm of his cock pounding into him never strays. Holden can only hang on as the pace mounts, growing harder, deeper, faster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s mouth separates from the bruised skin at the base of his neck, soothing the lathered saliva with a gust of hot breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” He mutters, his nose nudging behind the shell of Holden’s ear. “I’m close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden nods in agreement, already delirious with half-realized pleasure. His body is humming weightlessly, the only thing holding him down the ache dropping low and hard between his thighs. His cock jolts with every thrust of Bill’s hips, making the hard flesh swing torturously against his belly. He’s longing to come, but too overwhelmed to consider touching himself of his own accord. He doesn’t know whether Bill would enjoy that, or if he would get thrown down and spanked again - and he’s not certain which one he would enjoy more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The train of thought weaves off the tracks and out of sight as BIll’s hammering thrusts reach a fever pitch. Holden’s eyes slam shut as wave after wave of shocking momentum hits him deep to his core. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gasps out staggered whimpers of helpless overstimulation, barely breathing until Bill’s pace cuts off abruptly. His hips seize against Holden’s backside, and a strangled groan rasps from his throat and against Holden’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a hard jolt and spasm, Bill collapses into Holden. They tumble back down against the sheets with Holden trapped underneath him, his mouth stretched open in awe as Bill trembles against him, gushing slick, hot release inside of him. He feels it fill him up before Bill’s cock thrusts through the spasms, pumping it in and out of him, sending the excess leaking along the cleft, glazing his balls and the insides of his thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the orgasm eases, Bill leans over him with one trembling hand braced in the sheets, the other tumbling down Holden’s shivering spine. He pulls out slowly, and Holden moans at the sudden, aching void inside of him and the responding raw ache that takes up residency in its place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill sprawls on his back onto the mattress beside Holden. He presses a hand over his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden slowly lifts his face from the sheets, and peeks over at him. He looks spent and satisfied, his anger flagging in the distance behind them - for now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls over carefully, feeling his body leaking with cum and flinching at the slight movement. His cock lapses hard and pink against his belly, longing for release, but he hesitates to touch himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s hand slips from his forehead, and he cracks his eyelids open to peer at the ceiling for a long silent moment. He must feel Holden staring at him because he turns his head to meet Holden’s gaze. They look at each other quietly before Bill’s gaze wanders down, traversing the bunched hem of Holden’s t-shirt wrapped up around his chest, his quivering, pale belly, and his hard cock flexing angrily with arousal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden swallows hard, and moves his trembling hand against his thigh, closer to his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I?” He whispers, his voice hoarse and almost unrecognizable to his own ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s brow flickers with a frown. “You don’t need my permission.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden licks his lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, I want it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The unspoken thought lingers in the empty air, fracturing into jagged slivers that grip them both with a dawning realization. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Bill props himself up on his elbow, and nods at Holden’s hand resting close to his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on.” He says, softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden draws in a trembling breath, and reaches over to grab the jar of Vaseline discarded among the sheets. He gathers some of the oil on his fingers, and gingerly smears it down the length of his cock. The slight touch makes his nerve-endings sing and his groin draw tight. A whine pierces the back of his throat, unstoppable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wrapping his fingers around the shaft, Holden gives himself a few slow pulls to lather the lubricant all over. Pleasure hedges low in his belly, and he digs his heels into the mattress to thrust up against the caress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill shifts closer, his gaze heavy on the stiff lines of Holden’s body, following the quivering muscles all the way to the center where his pink cock juts wetly in and out of his fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Bill whispers, bowing his head to press his mouth against Holden’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath seeps hotly through the sleeve of the t-shirt as Holden’s pace quickens, fist working furiously over his aching cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it.” Bill urges, his fingertips drifting down Holden’s heaving ribs to trace the outline of his thrusting hip. “That’s it, just like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden gasps, overwhelmed by pleasure and Bill’s raspy encouragement. He focuses on the eager thrust of his hips rising up to meet his descending hand - on moving in a way that Bill likes, in making this a show worth watching and one that Bill will never forget. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, with his body aching on the verge of exploding, the pleasure rises up fiercely through his belly and chest to grip his melted insides with deep, hard spasms. His hips jolt up and freeze against his stroking fist when the orgasm takes him under; he’s paralyzed for a few blinding, blissful moments before he begins to shudder under the waves of climax rolling through him. Hot release dapples his belly, coming over and over again in abundant gushes that don’t stop until he’s dropping to the sheets, drained and breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lays still for a long moment, his eyes pressed shut against the glimpse of reality just beyond the contained pleasure of this moment. He knows when the rushing endorphins fade, the consequences of what they just did - what he instigated - will come crashing down. He knows how this will look - ugly, grotesque, deviant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden opens his eyes slowly, and glances down to see Bill’s hand lingering against his bare hip. His mouth and nose are pressed to Holden’s shoulder, and his eyes are clenched shut. Holden can feel the gust of his heavy breaths escaping his nostrils. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still think you should come with me to the correctional facility.” He says, because it's true and because he doesn’t want to awkwardly try to talk about what just happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill lifts his head, his mouth moving in wordless confusion for a moment before he manages, “We, uh … we talked about this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you accused me of getting my rocks off by talking to Ed Kemper.” Holden whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill swallows hard. Neither of them have the nerve to say how clearly wrong that observation had been because Holden is getting his rocks off in other ways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you believe me now?” Holden asks, “It doesn’t have anything to do with a thrillride or boredom. I think the idea has real validity, that we could really learn something and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Bill interrupts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden presses his mouth shut as Bill pushes himself upright, and sits on the edge of the bed with his forehead braced in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay?” He echoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Fine.” Bill says, shooting a weary glance over his shoulder at Holden. “Happy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden frowns. “I, uh-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you get everything you wanted now?” Bill asks, his tone sharp-edged with building anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden rubs a hand over his face, and pushes himself upright among the disheveled sheets. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill scoffs, and turns back around to glare straight ahead at the opposite wall. “Great. I’m glad you’re satisfied, Holden.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you?” Holden asks, softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat of silence, and Bill’s head drops lower with a heavy sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t wrong, was I? About you and Nancy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s shoulders rise with a deep breath before he stands up, and turns to cast Holden a scathing glare. “You don’t know shit about my marriage, all right? This ends right here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden nods. He isn’t angling for an argument, one that might turn violently physical in a way he wouldn’t like this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s gaze wanders down Holden’s wrecked body with a sneer of disgust. “You should go get a shower. You’re filthy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden nods again. He crawls out of the sheets, and rises to his feet directly in front of Bill. Their gazes hold for a moment before Holden brushes past him, muttering, “Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears Bill’s breath catch, the sound of alarmed satisfaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holden slips into the bathroom, and pushes the door shut behind him. The latch clicks in the silence, and his raspy breaths echo against the hollow tile. His heart picks up its pace again, that exhilarated and terrified cocktail that had driven him beyond his fear in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuffling the sink, Holden hesitantly meets his gaze in the reflection. His hair is a mess, his cheeks flushed pink with fading arousal. His t-shirt is wrinkled and stained, and his cock and pubic hair are soiled with drying cum. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He can wash all that away. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The thought halts in the back of his mind as his gaze journeys back up to glimpse the darkening bruise planted on the lower right side of his neck. There, the crescent shape of Bill’s teeth are imprinted on his skin, forming a jagged semi-circle around burst, purple blood vessels. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Some things can’t be washed away with soap and water. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He climbs into the shower, and turns the water on hot. Even as the drying release and sweat wash away to circle the drain, the invisible mark of Bill’s touch all over his body lingers. When he closes his eyes, it’s all there in vivid technicolor; he doesn’t know when he stumbled upon these needs, how he let him grow so uncontrollably, or when he found the courage to confront Bill with them, but he does know one thing - this is far from over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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